


your name, a universe on my lips

by chrysanthe (sonderesque)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cooking, Flirting, Future Fic, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:01:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26830327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonderesque/pseuds/chrysanthe
Summary: Miya Atsumu meet Hinata Shouyou(or: all the ways that Atsumu tries to date Hinata, and the time he does succeed-- sort of)
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 11
Kudos: 114





	your name, a universe on my lips

When he dies, his gravestone will have the words etched into stone: "here lies the superior twin, Miya Atsumu."

It is completely impossible to file a comprehensive list of all the things that make Atsumu better than Osamu. Believe him, he’s tried. However, theoretically speaking, if he were forced to choose his favourite reasons, he would have to say: ritualistically dying his hair without it falling out in clumps (only strands every so often; he's not going bald he swears), his massive paycheck, and being able to live on his own for almost a year without setting anything on fire or giving himself food poisoning.

That last reason Osamu firmly contends, but he's only bitter because as previously stated: Atsumu is the superior twin. His twin may have inherited the majority of the brain cells in the womb and the ability to function as a proper human being and the ability to cook-- well. The point is that Atsumu's charms are so far beyond the scope of the human mind that his genius cannot be explained. It’s jealousy speaking when Osamu says it’s just because he’s just that unintelligible. He’s wrong, of course.

Here is the trademark secret: the trick is that everyone is infinite potential given human form. You are immortal up until you die. Invincible until hurt. Everything is possible unless proven otherwise. His heart lives in a state of nebulous existence-- has one if his body is without a bleeding cavity, doesn’t if it’s not on his sleeve. All things considered, Atsumu takes these possibilities, shaping them like works of art. He is what he makes himself out to be.

To prevent Atsumu from taking over the world, the universe rolls its dice and spins its coins. It asks him to gamble, to make a choice and stick by it. He’s right until proven wrong, bound to succeed until he doesn’t. And when he doesn’t? Well, Atsumu is stubborn enough to keep plodding along this long and arduous road regardless. 

Which is to say, he had been working towards this plan of his for months. It may or may not involve Pavlov’ing Shouyou by taking him out just past midnight to go get Pocari Sweat from the vending machines down the street and right beside that one shady alley after practices. Somewhere along the way, he’s going to invite Shouyou out for food and make a dramatic and passionate declaration of love.

It's romantic, Atsumu knows. He is the flirting master. Single people look at him and wish they had his skills, taken people look at him and want to be him. You see those rings on Saturn? He put them there himself, married a planet multiple times even. Peak romance, after all, is wooing one's love interest with a series of elaborate schemes that just barely qualifies as flirting. No one ever said it was required to be straightforward with one's emotions. While the extent of his romantic experience may be limited to watching shoujo anime and the one or two (dozen, extremely fleeting and misguided) crushes he's had up until this point, that's neither here nor there in the face of his prowess.

Atsumu makes a living through irrationality; he’s going to find a way to make a life out of it too. 

_ (Hinata Shouyou meet Miya Atsumu) _

* * *

Set the scene.

A post-game celebration the night after the team celebration. Atsumu has just enough common decency not to drag Shouyou away for an unofficial date of their own after they won, but just barely. Regardless, Meian had given him the Look, and that was that.

They sit across from each other in a warm izakaya just a train ride and a short walk away from the Black Jackal dorms. The restaurant bustles with a dull chatter, the type easily tuned out when lost in one's own thoughts, the delicious food, or when one gets hypnotized by the way the warm yellow light makes Shouyou's hair more vibrant copper than usual.

The universe drops a copper coin into Atsumu’s hands, asking him to take a risk. Shouyou’s head is etched, immortalized in reddish-brown. He’s rich in chance, rich in longing and all the possibilities stretching out before him. Sitting here, watching Shouyou talk animatedly about the time he accidentally knocked off his principal’s toupee in high school, Atsumu is willing to do anything.

He takes a sip from his large glass. Liquid courage.

"Hey Shouyou, I think maybe we should take this a step further. You know, since we've been spending so much time together..." he trails off, stares at the boy across from him.

For someone so bright, his quiet has always been unnerving. Shouyou steals the last tempura from the extra appetizers they ordered. Crunch. Atsumu's heart is deep-fried, covered in Panko, turned edible. Crunch.

The coin turns in the palm of his hand, spins. He is not a betting man, but he wants to bank it all on Shouyou. Tails. 

Shouyou stops chewing, tilting his head. "You mean, become mega best friends?"

Heads. He’s wrong. 

Atsumu jerks back, spilling beer on the sleeve of his favourite hoodie. Shouyou pats his forearm sympathetically before calling the waitress for some napkins.

* * *

With all the courage of a man walking into the ocean and expecting the waves to bend to his will-- instead of the actual reality of the undercurrent sweeping him off his feet and making him swallow a litre of saltwater and prematurely drying himself out inside out despite his extremely complex skin routine-- Atsumu marches his way across to where Shouyou and Sakusa are stretching. Sakusa, as per usual, watches him warily as if anticipating the next onslaught of stupidity. Which this is not, obviously. Shouyou looks up at him calmly, expectantly. 

He flops down noisily, crossing his legs like a middle-schooler. Looks Shouyou dead in the eyes. "What do you think of me?"

"Pain in the ass," Sakusa chimes in.

"Not you."

"You're a great setter," Hinata responds

Atsumu nods in agreement. "I know that, but I mean. What do you think of me as a person, from your perspective? Do you like me?"

"Is this one of those things where you get my honest opinion and then get mad? Because I'm not Tsukishima."

Atsumu doesn't know who that is. He doesn't really care either. Unless that's his new love rival, in which case he does care. 

"I won't get mad," he says instead. 

"That's what they all say," Shouyou pouts. Pauses. "You're a lot to handle sometimes, and this is coming from the person who had to deal with Kageyama throughout high school. Dramatic, pushy, definitely hypocritical. You're terrifying but also sometimes when I play against you in practice I want to punch you in the face, but not in the fun cool way but the 'why are you so frustrating' type of way. "

A quiet “ _ oh _ ," is all Atsumu can muster.

Shouyou's eyes widen, backtracking quickly over his words. "You're still a good player! And I'm definitely glad to have you as my teammate!" 

Too late. Atsumu has already signed his death contract. He collapses on the floor. It's not a very far drop, but the thud is impressive nonetheless. Top ten ways to die: at the words of a boy who probably doesn't know you like him. To fade away staring up at the blinding gym skylights framing the concerned face of the one whose existence is the reason for such anguish-- there are better ways to go. There are worse ways. 

"Hey, Atsumu-san. Atsumu-san?"

Sakusa's faint voice. "Oh leave him. He's just being dramatic.”

It takes Bokuto screaming 'hey, hey, hey' four times in his ear before Atsumu decides his hearing is more important than passing away on a gym floor.

* * *

The following practice, Atsumu barges into the men's locker room with a bottle of Pocari Sweat in hand, either as a bribe or as a gift he hasn't quite decided yet. What he has decided, however, is that today is the day. He'll finally convince Shouyou to go out with him. 

A figure stands by a locker, hair wrapped in a towel.

"Hey Shouyou--"

Meian turns around, raising an eyebrow at the quickly falling expression on the other's face. "If you're looking for Hinata, he already went out. Said something about the time differences between Brazil and Japan and how it was hard to call them at any other time."

Pocari Sweat? Pavlov? Useless. 

Atsumu slams his head against a locker.

* * *

It is now time for Plan B.

* * *

Spoiler alert: Atsumu has no plan B. 

Plan 'some letter between A and B' involves staring at a wall in his apartment and cursing himself for being so skilled at being slick that Shouyou doesn't even see the signs. Or maybe he has and he's just been ignoring Atsumu's valiant plans in order to let him down easily. His eggshell-coloured walls have done nothing to deserve this pity party. Atsumu throws one anyways. It’s fantastic. 

He has never been so wrong in all of his life, or if he has then he doesn’t care enough to remember the agony of it until now. Atsumu may be a red flag, but Shouyou is a natural disaster and will ruin him without any warning sign. His trademark secret is nothing but a joke. It doesn’t matter if Atsumu breaks all the rules in the rulebook if Shouyou is a lawless land. Everything that is theoretically impossible is possible, and everything possible has just dissolved into nothingness. 

Has he been friendzoned? Is this the end? 

No, of course not. It will not end here. 

Damage control dictates that Atsumu must immediately call Osamu. It is sometime around 1 in the afternoon in the middle of the lunch rush. Atsumu does not care. As it turns out: neither does Osamu, who declines his call six times. On the seventh, he picks up.

"The guy I like can't take a hint," Atsumu says immediately.

"Ah, you mean, to go away? I see you two have many things in common."

"No, stupid. I mean I actually like him and he's not giving me a straightforward answer!"

"Maybe he just hates you." The cheer in Osamu's voice is very punchable. 

Atsumu settles for glaring at his reflection in the coffee table in his living room. "I'll spit in your food."

"After the food poisoning incident during middle school, not even sticking my hand down a horse's mouth scares me anymore."

"Do you have something to tell me--”

"Anyways! Did you ever consider just... telling this 'mystery boy' how you feel?" 

Desperate times call for desperate measures, which is why Atsumu actually mulls over the possibilities of listening to Osamu's advice for a solid ten seconds. At least, he does, before realizing a fatal flaw. "Isn't that just set up to public humiliation?"

"It's called emotional vulnerability, dumbass." Osamu must have grasped a fundamental truth of the universe when he stuck his hand in a horse's mouth. It’s a shame it’s of no use to Atsumu. 

"Thank you. You were of absolutely no help."

"Just make sure you woo him outside of the kitchen! I'd like to meet them--"

Atsumu hangs up and goes back to productively staring at his wall.

* * *

Several days later, two remarkable events occur almost consecutively. The first remarkable event is that Atsumu takes Osamu’s suggestion seriously, or well, as seriously as he can anyways. 

This time, Atsumu skips the Pocari Sweat step in his plans. Rather, he skips all the steps in his plan and goes straight for an ambush. It’s 8pm, just after practice. No Pavlov midnight trip. Just two people, standing as if in matrimony while the neon glow bears witness to a miracle carved into the night. Two bags of pretzels sit in the exit slot of the machine, several yen change just next to it. An offering. May the universe roll in favour of this romantic endeavour.

The second remarkable event goes something like this:

Shouyou's face is between Atsumu's hands like a sandwich. A gourmet idiot sandwich. He feels the softness of Shouyou's cheeks, padding for a jawline unburied like treasure, like the edges of a copper coin. 

Atsumu has found a way to outsmart the universe. One does not need to guess heads or tails when the head is looking straight at you. He should know how this ends because he’s always right until proven wrong. Shouyou always proves him wrong. There is no way to know before he opens his mouth, swallows the answer whole.

His vows under the vending machine lights are a plea for a miracle. Atsumu asks, "You're my spiker, yes?” 

Shouyou tries to nod as best as he can, which results in a jerky motion between a twitch and perhaps a half-hearted attempt at freeing himself. "Well, you are the setter."

"So then the line of thinking follows as: I should take care of my spikers and make sure that they're in tiptop condition to win points with my spikes."

“Are you actually asking me out on a date this time or am I hoping for too much?” A half-smile plays on the edges of his mouth, eyes playfully dangerous the same way Shouyou gets when he's mid-game-- one where Atsumu is less a person of agency and more an extension of a barely conceivable desire. An extension of a common passion, a common goal. 

Atsumu, for the first time, sees Shouyou and what he's been waiting for this whole time. As a setter, he does the one thing he's not supposed to do. He drops his hands.

“Yes-- wait, no. You're not hoping for not too much." An incredulous laugh claws its way up his throat, the tail end of it fading into a sigh. "And yes, this is me asking you out on a date.” 

Shouyou reaches down and grabs the two pretzel bags, handing one to him with a wide grin. "You actually used your words for once." 

Atsumu points at him. "Brat."

* * *

In a series of unfortunate realizations, Atsumu completely reverses the little good karma he has with the universe just by existing.

As it turns out, his numerous talents and status as the better twin does nothing to garner sympathy nor goodwill to anyone but himself and therefore he completely forgets that without reservations a dinner date on the weekend would be virtually impossible. Shouyou takes this in stride, as he has with most of Atsumu's maybe-not-so-genius ideas, and suggests that they just make dinner at Atsumu's place which has a bit more privacy over the busy MSBY dorms. 

It doesn’t take long for Shouyou to shower and change after practice, so they make their way to a nearby supermarket and pick up ingredients for a vegetarian feijoada recipe that Shouyou claims is one of the best meals he learned how to make in Brazil. The idea of Shouyou cooking dinner instead of Atsumu is a breath of relief, but only insofar as now he's only required to not screw up the easy ramen noodle recipe he had panickedly texted Osamu for. His repeated suggestion of just staying out of the kitchen goes unheard.

After a quick tour of his mildly cluttered apartment (yes, he does kick all the random paper and clothes into closets and under chairs as best as he can) and pulling out the few ingredients that Atsumu actually remembers to keep in stock, Shouyou makes himself at home in Atsumu's kitchen.

He lends Shouyou one of the aprons Osamu had left at his apartment, a long navy apron that looks almost like a dress on top of his basketball shorts. Shouyou snorts, spinning around on the ball of his foot. The end of the apron flares up as he twists his body, blue blurring with orange. It almost physically hurts to look at him.

"This is a dress on me!" he snickers childishly. His hand swipes at the counter, but misses he spins just a little too far and grabs the next best thing. 

Atsumu becomes the steady point, although he himself nearly wavers. He does waver. Shouyou, flushed and a little breathless, has his mouth caught in the shape of a laugh-- a shape Atsumu doesn't know but so desperately wants to. His heart literally skips a beat, tries to make space for the multitudes in which Shouyou will ruin him. This is what all those songs must be talking about, the boy he loves carving his name into his bones. Atsumu will never unlearn the way the light catches the edges of Shouyou's body. He still has much to discover about all the ways Hinata Shouyou can take him apart and piece him together in the same breath.

"What is it?"

"You look, uh--" He has never been friends with his words, but he hadn't thought that they would completely abandon him when he needs it the most. "Your hand is... still on my arm."

Shouyou lets go immediately. "Oh, sorry." He doesn't sound very apologetic.

With all the finesse of a man who has thrown all plans out of a window and watches it plummet several stories before a bird picks it from the air and devours it whole, Atsumu points in the vague direction of his room. "I should go shower."

He nods, a cheeky grin spreading as he waves Atsumu off. "I'll be here whenever you're ready."

* * *

Between him and Osamu, Atsumu is the twin who put his heart under his sleeve. You cannot see the outline of his heart, pulsing. The thin illusion is both a barrier to everything he wants and his only source of protection. A fragile indestructibility. What would it take to bring such a man to his knees, to prove him wrong? 

Half an hour later, Atsumu is freshly showered and has regained some semblance of his composure, albeit very little. The rich spicy aroma of the feijoada Shouyou is cooking has engulfed his entire apartment. Atsumu can almost taste the ghost of the dish on his tongue. His stomach grumbles, reminding him that this may be the first homemade meal he's had in weeks. This is Shouyou's way of sharing his life with Atsumu. 

Two steps into the kitchen and just barely out of view, Atsumu stops. His fist tightens around the game jersey draped around his neck. Over the noisy hum of the vent above the stove, Shouyou is singing. 

He can barely make out the words. For someone so full of spirit and energy, there's a quiet contentment lingering in the edges of Shouyou's presence, the way his voice is no longer so bold but still manages to hold a firm certainty and confidence. A mix of Portugeuse and Japanese words spill into the air, his body swaying in time to a rhythm that only Shouyou knows. Atsumu would like to think that he would show him some day-- how to hold power in the lines of his body and still be capable of such captivating softness.

It feels voyeuristic almost, to take a peak at an existence outside his own and yearn so desperately to be able to crawl into their skin, to settle next to a heart outside his body. Atsumu has never been able to satiate this intangible hunger he's had since he was born, yet around Shouyou he is not the shape of desire given a body. He is made into Achilles. He is made invincible in the same breath that he is made defenseless.

If this is what emotional vulnerability feels like, then Atsumu wants to--

Shouyou spins around, stirring spoon in hand as he sings, and spots Atsumu. A faint blush creeps across his face. Teasing words flit through Atsumu's head, but he can't string them together in the way he wants to. Instead, Shouyou beckons for him to come closer, pointing to the bubbling stew. 

Atsumu rolls up his sleeves. 

* * *

By the time Atsumu begins cooking the noodles, the veggie feijoada is steaming away on the counter and Shouyou is nearly done cleaning up his own dishes. In no way is the extremely delayed cooking Atsumu's fault, as he valiantly tries to get out of the kitchen as soon as he can on multiple occasions. It can’t be helped when his fatal weaknesses are right there either.

This takes longer than necessary. Shouyou sprays water in Atsumu's face because apparently it's funny to see his hair turn into the equivalent of a really sad microwavable pizza pocket. Then they end up having multiple races across his kitchen when they discover that their socks can slide quite far on his floor. Afterwards, they forget about cooking entirely and end up regaling each other with childhood stories that may involve eating a mud pie on Atsumu's end and wandering into a middle school in the next town over for Shouyou. That is all to say, they spend more time dancing around the idea of dinner rather than just eating dinner.

Shouyou perches himself on the counter just several feet away from the gas stove. He’s just far enough to ease Atsumu's supposed fretting-- he’s not fretting; it’s just mild concern-- but close enough for him to swing his legs and lightly kick Atsumu in the side every so often. It’s a little inconvenient having to constantly turn back and forth from Shouyou to the stove, but Atsumu makes the best of it as Shouyou eagerly tells him more stories from his time in Brazil.

His hands are up in the air, either mimicking the gestures of those he’s imitating or doing some weird interpretive dance. “I shouldn’t have eaten it, I know. But in my defense, I thought the manager was just being kind and wanted me to have the leftover pizza.”

Looking down at the pot, Atsumu can’t help the fond smile as he pictures all the shenanigans Shouyou had gotten himself into in Brazil. “Two years… you definitely got yourself into trouble.” There’s an ache too as he can’t help but wish he was there to see it in person. To see Shouyou against a different skyline, in all the places he possibly can. 

“Oh, but the stories are so fun to tell,” Shouyou says teasingly, kicking at Atsumu’s knees.

He doesn’t mean to ask, but curiosity gets the better of him and he opens his mouth anyways. "No one just falls off the radar for two years and manages to get onto a division one team. In theory, you could have gone anywhere else. Why Black Jackals?"

"It's not just about Black Jackals.” Atsumu goes from attentively watching the pot to whirling around to fully face Shouyou. This is the most serious Shouyou has been all night, a hint of nervousness lingers too as his fingers drum inconsistent patterns on his thighs. "I wanted to meet new monsters. I wanted to be the type of player who could stand on the court with my own merit. Be a player that was worth setting to."

"For Kageyama?" He tries very hard not to sound apprehensive. It does not go as well as he wants it to.

Shouyou shakes his head, tufts of orange hair bounces up and down. "Not just him. Just in general.”

He could do it now, touch Shouyou and let himself fall away exposed to the bone. Not yet. Hands on both sides of Shouyou’s legs, Atsumu brings his face mere inches away from Shouyou. Eyes narrow at each other, trying to parse truth from their reflections, their secret selves in the mind of the other. He needs to know. "Do you remember your first Nationals?"

"Finally having you set for me is just a perk to this all," Shouyou answers. He doesn't blink or look away. "I could have gone anywhere else, maybe. That possibility of 'maybe' doesn't matter much to me." His hands go still. This time, he's the one who reaches out to cup Atsumu's cheek, pulling him closer. "You're my setter now, and that counts for something."

Atsumu is set aflame: his back is on fire, his hands are on fire, his heart is on fire. His thin veneer, all bravado and confidence, wears away with every second that Shouyou’s hands, calloused skin cool to the touch, stay on his face. A tantalizing distance. Throw caution to the wind when the boy you love asks to see those initials, his mark in your bones. 

Before he can press their lips together, Shouyou is shoving at his face, trying to get him to turn away. There must have been a sign he read wrong, mistook friendliness for a chance--

He's pointing at something that's just out of sight. " _ Atsumu _ . Atsumu,  _ fire _ !" 

_ Fire? _

Atsumu whips around, already reaching for the first cloth that he can get his hands on. Luckily for him, it’s already conveniently around his neck. Since when did he have a cloth there? Well, he’ll take what he can get in order to deal with this situation as soon as he can, especially when he knows from first-hand experience how embarrassing it is to explain to the fire department that no his life wasn’t in danger, he's just terrible at cooking.

Shouyou tries to stop him--

"Hold on, wait no! That's your…”

As quickly as possible, he tries to choke the fire out throwing the cloth over the top of the pot

\--but it's too late.

* * *

Set the scene.

Atsumu, nearly inconsolable, sitting on his couch. Elbows on knees, head in hands. Hands on head. The charcoaled version of his game jersey sits patiently on the table. His pot of noodles is in even worse condition-- burnt bits stuck to the blackened bottom and in soggy chunks. The fire alarm had stopped blaring several minutes ago once the smoke cleared out. Or maybe that was because Atsumu had given up and simply unplugged it.

‘Nearly’ inconsolable is the keyword here. The only reason being he hasn’t absolutely lost it is because of Shouyou who, for some reason or another, has decided not to just get up and leave after he makes an absolute fool of himself. Maybe he should have come with a plan, one that preferably had less things on fire and more Pocari Sweat. Their evening isn’t ruined; just because it’s burnt in some places doesn’t mean it’s unsalvageable. However, his dignity is floating somewhere in the noodle water sludge in the blackened pot, and he’s not quite sure how to feel besides mourning for his jersey and disappointment in the fact that the feijoada isn’t freshly cooked anymore.

"I ruined my jersey,” comes the miserable groan.

"I bought an extra when I was signing up for the team. You can borrow mine for practices if you need,” Shouyou offers. Atsumu momentarily considers burning his spare if that’s what it takes to borrow Shouyou’s, before reasonably coming to the conclusion that yes, that is another terrible idea. 

"Are you still hungry?" he asks, more to the grey suede of his couch through the gaps of his fingers covering his face than the boy beside him.

Shouyou pats his head. "Well, yeah. A bit. We still have the feijoada though, but there’s no rice.”

"This doesn't diminish my chances, does it?"

"Your chances of me ever letting you cook again? Oh absolutely." 

Atsumu groans, turns his head away in embarrassment. "I meant, would you still consider being my boyfriend?" 

"I don't need to consider anything." 

He looks up at Shouyou, expecting disappointment or annoyance. In the end, he can’t see anything; His vision is all vivid tangerine. A shiver runs down his spine when Shouyou presses a faint kiss on his forehead.

"Oh," he says.

“ _ Oh _ .” Shouyou nods in agreement. 

A long suffering sigh escapes in one dramatic exhale. There’s no winning this battle, not when Shouyou is involved. "Okay, one second. I'll get us some food."

* * *

As a one time special, Atsumu willingly gives up his title of ‘superior twin’ to Osamu for the day.

Around five minutes after placing a carefully worded text, in which he simply states that the kitchen is out of commission and that Osamu still owes him a favour from the last time he bought them drinks, an elegant box finds its way to his doorstep. With the three layered box wrapped with patterned paper and tied red lace ribbon, it’s an impressive display of pretentiousness that makes Atsumu both equal parts delighted and disgusted. 

He reads the tiny card on the side: _ ‘I told you to stay out of the kitchen. P.s: introduce me to your new boyfriend some time’,  _ which goes immediately into the trash. The box, and all the onigiri and extra sushi packed inside is taken out. Shouyou talks eagerly about the food while Atsumu sets the table. It’s the only thing he’s allowed to do back home anyways.

They have dinner just past 2am, and the feijoada is delicious. It’s not surprising that Shouyou is a great cook, which comes with the unfortunate conclusion that Osamu would be extremely impressed. Atsumu is sure that terrifying things would happen, mostly to him, if Shouyou and Osamu were to ever meet. A plan starts forming in his head, but falls right out when Shouyou laces their fingers together.

Here is another trademark secret: For Shouyou, Atsumu lets the copper coin spin. He leaves his sleeves rolled up. Lets his heart take shape in Shouyou’s hands.

There it is.

**Author's Note:**

> I really liked the Miya twins; their relationship is so fun to analyze. I didn't expect to like Atsuhina as much as I do now
> 
> (s/o to fropi for yelling me too haha)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
